


The Climb

by KTHRN



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 4
Genre: All standard Far Cry warnings apply, Almost a fairytale romance, Also there’s coke, Bye Mohan, F/M, No one cares about you Mohan, Tiny Sabal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7859440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTHRN/pseuds/KTHRN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ishwari has her duties, her growing family. She should be content. Her husband's second in command has different ideas.<br/>And just as the royalists are on the brink of victory, all hell breaks loose.</p><p>A short story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The women giggle nervously as they tread down the narrows steps carved into the side of the mountain. A messenger had reached the village half an hour ago, announcing that a nationalist outpost had once again been driven to its knees by the combined force of the royalists and their foreign mercenaries.

“Ishwari”, after she had dismissed the man, an older woman had touched her elbow gently, ignoring the looks she got from the others at the use of her name, “You should head out and be the first to greet Mohan.”

Ishwari has one hand pressed across her swollen belly, the other holding on to the mountain wall for support. In the distance down below she can already see him, her husband, and she smiles brightly as she shouts across the steps. “Mohan Ghale returns victorious to his loving wife, who has missed him for days!” 

This is met with more giggling from the others and as Mohan climbs the steps to come face to face with her, he is smiling as well. “Ishwari, I have missed you too. But you know you shouldn’t be walking these paths, especially like this”, he gestures at her belly, “Who knows what could have happened to you.” 

Ishwari lets out a fond sigh. Her husband was always worrisome throughout their marriage and once they had discovered her pregnancy he had thrown himself even more keenly into the war with the nationalist traitors that had overtaken their country. _“Soon”_ he had sworn gravely, _“Soon we will take back our country, restore Kyrat to the way it was and we will finally be at peace.”_

“I’ve been climbing down these steps ever since I was a child, Mohan.”, she replies. Her husband looks exasperated. He starts to scold her, but she interrupts him, causing the women to shift uncomfortably and look away. “You cannot expect me to do nothing but sit around rubbing my back all day”, Ishwari looks at him with large eyes, a trick that usually softens him, “Please my love…”

At this, Mohan frowns sternly. “I expect you to do your duty while I am away, you are no longer a child Ishwari. This kind of reckless behaviour is not befitting of a wife, of the Tarun Matara.”

Next to her, Chaitra gasps, affronted. “The Tarun Matara is a balm to us, she only wants us be united as a people and- and she will give us the strength to fight!” One of Mohan's men snorts loudly “Some chapati with that aloo mattar you make would give me strength right now Chaitra, I am starving!”

The young woman's face puffs up and she smacks the soldier around the ears. “Idiot”, she huffs irritably before turning on her heel and leaving her husband to look sheepishly after her. The men snicker and push him after her.

Ishwari is left with Mohan, glaring at him. “You know I want to help you, we all want to do more for the cause.” Mohan rebuffs her sharply. “And this is how? Talking to us like spoiled brats?”. With that he turns his back on her, his men following him up the stairs. Frustrated, Ishwari can only stand there and look after him, while the group passes by her. She feels the wetness on her cheeks and she wipes at it hastily, blaming it on hormones.

Another homecoming, another fight. _I don't know how much longer I can stand this,_ Ishwari thinks. Suddenly, there are yells and the sound of something crashing to the ground. Ishwari looks back and registers the group of Chinese men – Pagan’s mercenaries – that are trying to carry large crates up the narrow path.

And in front of them is Pagan Min himself, who spreads his arms in greeting. “Ishwari! Have you come to welcome us home?”, he grins cheekily, “I’m sure you must’ve been bored out of your mind, hell, you probably even missed me.”

Her heart flutters and she practically squirms as she lays eyes on him, the young man that so effortlessly leaves her breathless, has done so ever since he walked into their village with his expensive clothes and exotic accent. “ _Oh no, oh no no no no -“,_ the word repeats in her mind like a mantra.

He then notices her face and moist eyes and grows serious. “What’s wrong?”

Immediately, she shifts her gaze to the rock covered floor and after a short, sullen silence, she speaks. For all his youth – he being barely older than she – she found that she trusted him. Perhaps it was his confidence, the way he always had an answer for everything, the way his eyes were sharp and his comments often sharper. She wanted to confide in him immediately. 

“Mohan, he… I… I spoke out of turn. I want to help, I want to do more for us, for the royalists, but he doesn’t want me to concern myself with the struggles of our people beyond consoling them in the village.” Pagan huffs and looks past her, to where Mohan is leading his men. “He wouldn't.”

A dark look flashes on his face, his jaw seeming to shift ever so slightly into something foreboding. It is gone when Ishwari blinks, replaced by his usual easygoing smile. She must have imagined...

“You know, they say that behind every strong man there stands a great woman”, his dark eyes once again focus on her and she looks away quickly.

“A woman that fights his battles? That goes into war, while carrying his child, risking everything?”, Ishwari murmurs, lowering her head. “Mohan is right, I shouldn’t ask to fight, I’m just a woman…”

“Just a woman?”, Pagan clucks his tongue and raises a brow at her. The intensity of his gaze makes her fidget. She stumbles a bit and Pagan wordlessly reaches out to steady her. His hands are incredibly warm, and she feels the effortless strength of them as they curl around her hand and waist. _"Kyra_ _help me”,_ she thinks frantically, trying to calm her racing heartbeat.

Blushing heavily, she changes the subject: “Ehm… what is in those crates your men are carrying?” she peers to where two of Pagan's men have regained their grip on their cargo, the others snapping at them in hurried Cantonese. “Booze”, comes the instant reply from beside her.

Ishwari snaps back to Pagan, appalled: “Alcohol?! I thought you might have collected medicine! Or weapons! Things the people actually need-” “What the people need, is a sick ass party.” Pagan interrupts dryly, winking at her. 

Ishwari can’t help the corners of her mouth from lifting. “A party? Then... you plan to get the people drunk tonight?” Pagan wags a finger at her, a movement he makes often, and his face is smug in the light of her smiling. “You are all much too serious for your own good. I only want to... lighten you up a little bit”

Scandalized, Ishwari purses her lips, trying not to laugh. “I suppose we’d better make sure there’s food as well. And music… I hear Firaki plays the veena quite well.” Pagan lifts his hands, giving her a smile so boyishly charming that, for a moment, Ishwari is lost in it. “You see! That's the spirit. And don’t you worry about music, Ishwari, I’ve got that one quite covered.”

By now they’ve reached the top of the mountain, and Ishwari sees Mohan waiting for her in front of their home, his arms crossed over his chest.

She feels a warm pressure on her lower back and realises that Pagan is once again keeping her steady with one of his large hands. “Good luck, I’ll see you tonight.”, he whispers and Ishwari shudders from the heat of his breath ghosting over her ear, her face positively radiating warmth and probably looking as red as a tomato. And just like that, he leaves her once again to the burning shame of fawning over him like a young girl.

Yet as she walks up to Mohan, she still risks a glance over her shoulder, only to see a hint of muscles shifting beneath the grey shirt across Pagan’s broad back as he saunters after his men, heading to the village. Her throat goes dry, and guilt almost chokes her as she turns to her husband, who has already gone inside their home.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

As the door to the cabin closes, Mohan does not say a word. Yet Ishwari can feel the disapproval coming from him in waves, his arms crossed and lips thinned at her. After a moment of heavy silence, he speaks: “You will not leave the house tonight, and you will reflect on your behaviour, do I make myself clear?”

Ishwari glares at him, irritated at being spoken to as a misbehaving child, yet she refrains from speaking. At the lack of a reply, he mistakes her silence for resignation. Mohan stares at her for a moment, his face almost apologetic, and he gently places his hands on her shoulders. “I know you must have been worried, I understand. You are needed right here, in our home.”

With a sigh, he lets go of her. “Tomorrow we’ll talk. The men expect my presence tonight, but I’ll be back with you after. Then we can finally rest, together” Mohan smiles faintly, “Just you, me and our little one.”

Ishwari accepts a kiss on her forehead and says nothing, turning from her husband to look out the window, frowning. Her breathing is labored, but she is too stubborn to talk back to him, to start another fight. Instead, she lets him stand there, uncomfortable. After a moment she hears his footsteps and hears the creak of the ladder as he heads upstairs.

Outside and in the distance, she hears the voices of excited men, the loud noises of the people preparing for the festivities of the evening. The celebration of another victory for the royalists. Unclenching her hands and lowering her head, Ishwari feels forlorn and dejected, wishing she could be out there, knowing she should be.

Instead, she confines herself to her place at the windowsill, mulling over her old attempts of convincing Mohan, trying to talk him into letting her commit herself to the training of the women, to contributing to the cause. She can think of no argument she hasn’t already used on him, no amount of discussion, yelling and even crying that had ever swayed him if only slightly. If only…

The sky turns dark as the hours go by and Ishwari can hear music coming from the village, excited voices and laughter rising up the hills. When Mohan finally reappears, he doesn’t so much as glance at her. He stares into the distance as he opens the door, his shoulders squared and his jaw clenching, no doubt rehearsing a speech in his mind. She watches him go with an envious, heavy heart, her husband marching down the path to the village with his head held high.

For a few moments, Ishwari stares after him and listens. Then she stands up, walks to the old wooden cabinet and reaches in, combing through the scarves and cloth inside. Shortly afterwards, she leaves the house dressed in her darkest petticoat and blouse, a green saree wrapped around her pregnant belly and covering her head.

Defiance shining in her darkly lined eyes and nervously biting on her painted lips, Ishwari begins walking towards the brightly lit village. She tiptoes around one of the old houses when she sees the first group of men, sneaking through the shadows of one veranda to the next. She spots Mohan, standing with a group of men and looking distinctly annoyed at another part of the crowd.

Ishwari follows his gaze to see a young soldier hastily approaching what seems to be the source of the loud music, an upbeat western disco song. The large boombox sits on a discarded crate, a group of Chinese men drunkenly dancing around it along with a few of Mohan’s. With some effort, the soldier manages to get through the group and switch off the device only to be met with five others pulling him away and attempting to turn it back on.

“Brothers!”, comes Mohan’s loud voice and the men turn their attention to him immediately, the music forgotten. A few feet away from her the women abandon their cooking and begin to approach the crowd. Ishwari darts around the corner of the house, trying to catch her nervous breathing, before peeking out carefully.

When Mohan speaks, he does so in his serious way, his brow heavy as he congratulates the men on their victory. He begins to remind them, again, of the damage done by the nationalists and their terrible agenda, only to be interrupted.

Bursting through the people gathered around the older man and slapping his hand on Mohan’s back, Pagan Min lifts a bottle of some kind of liquor in the air and smiles broadly. “To victory!”

The people immediately cheer, all seriousness forgotten and Mohan looks uncomfortable as his second in command drags him to the side, where he is promptly overwhelmed by his own men bustling around him and trying to offer him something to drink.

Ishwari loses sight of them both and leans back against the wall of the house, her stomach fluttering. She knew Pagan would be here somewhere, yet nothing had prepared her for the exhilaration she felt seeing him again. She can’t help it, all she can think about was how striking he looked, all long legs and unbridled confidence as he’d steered her husband through the crowd.

 _That’s enough._ Ducking her face, Ishwari reminds herself that she has to be back at the house before Mohan comes home and discovers her missing. Heart pounding, she starts to tiptoe around the corner, planning to make her way across the empty path out of the village while the people are still celebrating on the other side.

When she lifts her head, however, she feels her heart sinking.

“Hello Ishwari.” 

The lights coming from the square are just enough to illuminate Pagan’s tall form in front of her, his amused eyes and the bottle hanging from his long fingers. “Playing hide and seek?”  
  
Ishwari would’ve liked the ground to swallow her then. She manages a small, nervous smile, meeting his gaze. “I’m uhm…”, she starts. He raises his eyebrows at her expectantly.  
  
“…just making sure that the festivities are going well”, she finishes lamely. “And they are. So. I’ll be going then.” With that she tries to walk away, face burning. To her mortification, Pagan promptly blocks her steps with a smile that she can only describe as wolfish.  
  
“Are you sure? An appearance from the Tarun Matara might be just the reminder this very devout gathering needs. You know these festivities bring out the carnal side of people… And of course we wouldn’t _ever_ want things to spiral into indecency”, he drawls. 

Ishwari lets out a near hysterical giggle. “I’m sure the people can control themselves very well!”, there is the sound of glass breaking in the distance, followed by howling laughter. Ishwari flinches, “And this really isn’t the sort of thing for me to attend.”  
  
“Very well then,” Pagan continues, pretending not to have heard her, “It’s time for me to make a confession. To be very honest, I have been looking for you all night. And I would be heartbroken if you decide to leave now.” 

That stops her in her tracks and she looks up at him, speechless. 

“Unless of course you decide you want to stay here.” He places his free hand on her shoulder, “Spend some time with me.” He softly pushes her back against the wall “And tell me all about what it is that would make an amazing woman such as yourself want to stay confined in the shadow of her oaf husband.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

For a moment all sounds from the village seem to have disappeared and Ishwari stands there, shocked. Pagan smiles triumphantly and takes a long drink from his bottle. 

Faced with her glaring, having lowered the bottle, he only laughs. The sound is mocking and cruel to her and at that moment, it feels like a challenge.

_And tell me all about what it is that would make an amazing woman such as yourself want to stay confined in the shadow of her oaf husband._

“You... does it make you jealous, to see a man who has spent his whole life fighting to protect his _home_ , who claims the loyalty of his people, of his wife?”, Ishwari aks coldly. At that, Pagan seems to sober and the hand on her shoulder is withdrawn almost immediately. Her turn now to be triumphant, Ishwari raises an eyebrow at him, still leaning comfortably against the wall.

Then she sees his hand clench into a fist, the other one tightening around the bottle and for a moment, all of Ishwari's courage leaves her. He means to hit her, she knows. She has gone too far, tonight, she should have never come here because now she will find out that this strange, charming boy is no different than the men she has known for all her life.

Having have risen from the wall, Ishwari lets her eyes dart over Pagan's tensing shoulders – the ones she'd seen him lift one of the village children onto, once, the ones she'd seen him use to throw a man to the ground during training – only to find that the foggy night air has become denser and she can't see anyone.

If she cries out for help, Mohan will never forgive her. If he finds her like this, he will never forgive Pagan. Pagan...

Pagan speaks, with slow, barely controlled anger: “Jealous of him? Oh I'm jealous of him, for other reasons than you know Ishwari. You're sneaking around in your own village, you keep your head low, you were crying.”

He doesn't mean to hit her, she realises slowly, watching his posture relax. Ishwari raises her eyes to his, then. For a moment he looks back and she can't explain, can't pinpoint what it is she sees. “You were crying while you should be queen of this whole damned country.”, he finishes.

It strikes her then, as does the impossibility of it all. It doesn't matter that her husband is standing some feet away from her. The other villagers, the people she calls her friends, her family, she hears their joy through the fog and it doesn't matter. The young man standing in front of her, Pagan, is looking right at her.

They stand, silently, until she moves forward and embraces him.

“Pagan”, Ishwari says, her voice wavering. She feels his arms coming up around her tentatively, and it is all she can do not to sob. The scent of him enfolds her, the caress of his fine shirt and warm hand against her back. She is sure she has never felt yearning like this. She breaks away gently. “Thank you.”

 

 

 

Overcome, Ishwari brushes past him and leaves him there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a short chapter. Thank you guys for being so patient with me while I get stuff sorted.


	4. Chapter 4

" _It's not about what you want_ ", the thought came to her mind as she stumbled into her husband’s home. 

Her home. This had always been her home, her people. Ishwari unwrapped her scarf, nearly ripped the fabric on her way to her dressing table. 

She clutched the handles of the bottom drawer and pulled, a sharp intake of breath. The old wood creaked, gave way. 

She let herself fall to the floor, panting, with the scarf wrapped tightly in her hand. Mohan had gifted her that scarf and she realised, while hearing her own throat protest against it, that she was crying.

Making a feeble attempt to alieviate the situation, she tried to put her saree into the open drawer, hide it. All that made her realise how close it had fallen open, how close to her rounded belly. To her baby, to her... 

"Ajay-", the damage was done and Ishwari was weeping. The name of her son couldn't reach her lips, no matter how hard she tried to calm herself. She couldn't feel him, couldn't feel him kicking inside of her body anymore. The strangest thing about the whole mess she was in was the numbness of it all, as if she was sinking away. Then, suddenly, she felt him lurching beneath her ribs. 

The ground had come up to meet her bruising knees, her side where she was laying. Ishwari knew then.

The following morning had Mohan coming home, demanding breakfast in his own, strict way. Dimly, she saw him pacing while she cut vegetables in small, small pieces. They were heading out again, today, she realised. They were risking their lives again, today.

Mohan, her people, Pagan, his people. In the name of Kyra, in his own name, in hers. 

" _Ishwari!"_ , the man that used to be hers was berating her now. As she looked down to the slices of green, she saw among it a small drop of red.

Somewhere, dimly, a voice was calling. Then, she heard clearly. The hesitant, soft knocks on the door of the cabin. Mohan had already moved, the familiar creak of the hinges. 

“Why, if it isn’t little Sabal.”

Ishwari let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, wiped her thumb on the drying cloth and started on salvaging the meal. 

The child’s mother had caught up with him. Chaitra was smiling an indulgent smile at the small boy’s back, where he was standing in the opening. 

“Sir”, came the soft voice from beside her. Ishwari had put the vegetables into the boiling water on the makeshift stove, the one that the meat had already been simmering in. She had to have done this a million times by now, she mused. 

Then, Chaitra’s voice cut in, steady: “Sabal has come to enlist.” 

Suddenly, a hysterical laughing filled the awkward silence that had followed. When Ishwari realised it was her she found she couldn’t stop. Not even when Chaitra had started to peek nervously around the corner, blocking little Sabal’s field of vision. 

Only when dear, sweet Chaitra looked at her sternly, nodded and said: “Tarun Matara”, did Ishwari’s laughter wear down on her. The pregnant woman raised her eyebrow at the other, mirth still pulling faintly at the corner of her mouth. When a silent understanding had been reached, the two women went about serving the meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I've been hesitant on how to write this. Ishwari is turning out to be a lot more complex than I thought. Don't even get me started on Mohan, that dirtbag. Pointers and tips are most appreciated.
> 
> Although this is still a work in progress, I won't make more than seven chapters, just coming back to edit out some of my obvious mistakes and make each chapter longer. Thanks for bearing with me ladies.


	5. Chapter 5

The trek into the village was blissfully silent for Ishwari, the sun hot upon the side of the mountain while the wind caressed her back. 

Chaitra, Mohan and Sabal were up front, the two murmering amongst eachother while the child tried to keep up a stoic front. Ever so often he turned his head, letting his hair get blown away from his face. Long hair, for a boy.

On ocasion, little Sabal would catch her gaze. A small smile would start then, in his eyes, only then he would turn away.

They reached the first outpost within an hour and Ishwari found it easy to wander around, offering Kyra’s blessings to anyone who would want them. Most did not. 

She found the mercenaries’ camp soon enough, free from the telltale sign of red powders and smoke. The Chinese men did not even glance at her as she approached the outbuilding. 

The sight that met her was one of Pagan Min, who in his turn was looking sullenly at the table in front of him. Next to him sat a woman and though Ishwari made no pretense of knowing the language spoken in that crooning voice, she knew this girl was his sister. A sister that was currently egging him on. 

“Yuma”, Pagan drawled, barely gazing up. “What did I tell you about leaving the door-“

”Hello Pagan”, Ishwari interrupted softly. There was a short silence, had she looked down she would have seen his hands had gripped the edges of his seat, almost going as white as the powder on the table.

Instead, she saw his eyes and recognised the look she had only briefly seen the night before. His eyes became round, soft looking, before a fierce pride settled there. 

Slowly, Pagan stood up, almost as if he was minding his table manners. His sister, apparently, was unamused. Rolling her eyes, Yuma, as he had called her, barked out something behind her.

”Ishwari, as we were in the middle of a”, he gestured vaguely, “preparation of sorts, our morning walk seems to have slipped my mind.”

In a few, lingering steps, he was at Ishwari’s side. “So, let’s.”

It didn’t take long, for Ishwari to fall into step again with his slow, elegant stride. They circled the village, always just within bounds, and talked. 

“So you see, Yuma is my adopted sister, and, just between you and me, I do rather think she adores me a bit too much sometimes”, Pagan quipped softly, his voice becoming more heavily accented with each soft spoken secret.

Ishwari was smiling with no restraint now, at him shifting a pebble with the tip of his ridiculously fancy shoe. Trying, and failing to keep his face a in a neutral expression. 

“ _Good, let them see_ ”, she thought.

“Your mother must have adored you”, she said. She felt, more then saw, Pagan faltering for a moment. He looked at her for a long moment, forlorn. Then, he spoke:

”She left, soon after I was born. We did try to write, about a lot of things. Honestly, it was a bother, trying to figure out this language. My old man had his tutors, but, you know...”, he trailed off. 

Ishwari hardly remembered her parents. So she didn’t bother. “Some things are better left private.” She finished, bitterly, her own English still coming out clumsily. Pagan snorted.

“That sounds like something Mohan would say,” Pagan began. “Dark thought”, Ishwari finished just as wryly. 

As they followed the string of coloured flags trailing above them with their eyes, Pagan reached out and touched one, squinting against the setting sun. A red flush was beginning to form on his skin, not quite brown yet. His hair was glinting an almost natural shade of blonde. 

As they came near the tree to which the flags were bound, he tried: “It’s almost time to head out, so it would be gentlemanly of me to escort you back home.” 

Ishwari nodded in agreement, then took his hand and pulled him softly into the shade. He did not resist her, then. “Almost.” She finished.

As Pagan turned his back on her, she was standing among the trees of the village. Little Sabal had approached her, hurredly wiping at his eyes. “Tarun Matara”, he almost cried. 

Pagan did not turn back, joining Mohan and his men. Yuma, being the only woman in the company, gave her a scalding look, then turned away and followed.

”Tarun Matara!”, Sabal cried more loudly. “When will they be back for us?”

”Soon”, replied Ishwari, vaguely, one hand resting on her rounded belly. No one seemed to notice her lifting her other hand, then, to her mouth. Her lips had felt strained yet soft, stretching into an almost imperceptable smile at the memory of Pagan’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My proper spelling and grammar lessons have gone out the window for now, enjoy while you can.


	6. Chapter 6

“Riki is gone”, Firaki said flatly. Her veena lay across her lap, her fingers resting across the strings. Ishwari had never heard Firaki play, such being her life.

She did not pretend to understand the other, merely soaking up the light on the veranda, stroking the skin that covered Ajay absentmindedly. 

Never had Ishwari mentioned the name of her son to anyone, nor did she feel the need to. She thought to hum to him, remembered the hymns of Kyra’s temple, reconsidered.

”Sharma, sharma...”, Firaki began, as if thinking of a new song. Her voice was hoarse and she stopped. Ishwari hardly gave her a look, leaning back where she sat.

She did not remember ever sleeping so well, feeling as if she still dreamt while she was awake. Over and over, she could see Pagan’s face. His eyes avoiding hers as he talked about his mother. His eyes avoiding hers as he looked at Mohan, jaw clenching. 

She could even imagine him now, swatting at the dawn’s first moisquito swarm trying to work its way down the collar of his finely pressed shirt. Then, Ishwari could barely surpress a snorting laugh, fanning her face. 

Could he, would he... be imagining her? An idea came up to her then. “Sharma, sharma”, she cooed softly. Firaki looked up at her, surprised out of a deep train of thought. 

“Do you still have that old camera, Riki?”

With a sigh, the other woman stood up and beckoned her along, wiping the sweat from her brow, into her long hair. Ishwari lifted herself, arguably with some trouble. 

“Let’s fix our hair, too!” Ishwari called. “Riki is gone!” Firaki called back. 

The morning passed quietly, Firaki surprising her by offering her a cigarette in between setting up the strange machine in her own cabin. Ishwari declined. 

Little Sabal, apparently having seen the two women walking together, softly knocked on the door. Firaki rolled her large, brown eyes and lifted a finger to her lips, softly exhaling smoke. 

Ishwari almost started to wave her hand through the air, remembered she was posing. Then, a flash lit up the room. Outside, Ishwari heard the telltale clatter of Sabal’s bowl, the red dust spilling and small feet running away. 

After a while, a small glow appeared where Firaki was standing. With one more shallow exhale, Ishwari’s eyes becoming re-accustomed to the light filtering in from outside the tiny shack, she registered...

”It’s alright to move now, Ishwari.” 

By the time Firaki had finished her sentence, the door had been thrown open and Ishwari was heaving. “Fire-“, she choked. “No Ishwari”, came the voice behind her. A hand was moving in front of her face. “You did fine, your picture will be done in a few days. I can give it to Mohan-“

”No!” Ishwari yelled, angry. She looked up, eyes welling from irritation. Firaki laughed, a strange but endearing sound. “Fine, fine. I’ll bring it to you then. But I’m keeping these hairpins. They suit me just fine. Sharma.”

Ishwari bit back a snide comment. Then she thought of Pagan, breathing more deeply. 

Like that, the sun set. Ishwari walked slowly, up steps and slopes, hoping that somewhere he thought of her, knowing he was.

She made her dinner, slept in her bed, had few guests. Most men had left. Only the children and the old remained, and the women. Her regular trips to the village gave her no real news of what was happening outside.

Then one day, before dawn, she woke up to a small, familiar child crying loudly and incoherently at her doorstep. Amidst his babbling, Sabal mentioned Mohan.

After Ishwari stroked back his long hair and tied it at the top of his head, the boy had calmed considerably.

When they reached the cabin that contained their sparse medical supplies, they found Mohan barking orders, limping in and out of the room. Soon after, he had found use of Sabal.

Amidst the screaming, wailing and confusion, one thing became clear. Pagan had not returned. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

In the end, it was Mohan that let her go, trying to haunt her down each step with spiteful whispers that got lost in the cold, harsh winds of the night.

Ajay was wailing into her chest.

After only a few moments Mohan gave up, realising he could not catch up with them and drag himself back up the mountain afterwards. Cursing Pagan and his reign one last time, he turned around.

Then, Ishwari was on her own. Ajay had become silent once she had reached the foot of the mountain. For hours, she wandered, seeing much but also nothing at all. Her feet were aching in her large, worn sandals. 

When the convoy picked her up, she was shivering beneath her bundles of clothing, Ajay almost hidden from view. Her tears having long since dried up, her shaking hand carefully held a small photograph beneath her sleeve. 

Two soldiers lifted her into the vehicle. When Ishwari was seated between them she was clutching Ajay to her. Outside, rain was pouring down. Her precious picture lay forgotten, trampled in the mud. As the engine roared to life, her infant son was still silent. It was unlike him, yet she could feel his small fingers curling underneath hers. 

They drove into the darkness, all noise fading into the background to her, though she did not sleep.

As they neared the gates of the palace, she thought she heard a familiar voice outside, amongst the many. Yuma sounded furious. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the van rolled to a stop, Ishwari came out feeling like she had been led across the rivers instead. A hand rested on her back, a sharp exchange of Cantonese behind her.

That hand never left, only then the arm moved over her aching back and was supporting her fully, over a threshold. The silence overwhelmed her and she almost spoke.

 _“No. You left me._ ”

Gently he guided her away from all of it, leading her into the warmth. Any thought of protest left Ishwari’s mind then. Ajay stirred in her arms and made a soft noise.

She set to removing some layers of wet clothing, reaching out wordlessly when thick, dry fabric was laid out beside her. Having wrapped Ajay in it, she let the man escort her to a place near the fire.  

When Ishwari woke, her head still on his shoulder, Pagan was holding her. She felt his chest move with each slow inhale and exhale.

In the years to come, she would not climb alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you go. I finished this, for now. Let me know what you think.


End file.
